Altamont Redux?
Mar 22, 2016 15:05:19 GMT -5
Post by AshCandor on Mar 22, 2016 15:05:19 GMT -5
She walked up the steps to the rustic cabin that she’d known since she was a little girl. Wood carving sculptures, trinkets, windchimes, and dreamcatchers hung from the porch overhang. An old black dog lazily regarded her, without raising its head.
“Hey Rover, don’t get up on account of me.” She gave his ear a nice little scratch before going inside.
She could hear the strains of some groovy music in the background, and her grandfather sat at the piano tinkling away at it. When he heard her walk in, he turned and regarded her with a hearty smile. Long straggly grey/white hair that was slowly starting to recede perched on his head, some reading glasses, and an old Hawaiian shirt that might’ve been older than Echo adorned him.
“Hey there punkin’ pie, how’s my lil’ tumbleweed?” He got up and gave her a big hug.
“I’m good, Poppa. Have you been watching my matches?”
He chuckled and nodded. “You know that I have. Who would’ve imagined, my granddaughter throwing in with the sequined tights crew.” He mocked only in a good natured manner. Fact was, along with the rock and roll hippie culture he’d grown up with in the ‘60s and ‘70s, he also loved the old-school wrestling of his youth. “I can still remember those smoky halls up and down the California coast, watching them guys… larger than life they were. To me anyway. Does it hurt?”
She sat down and took off her floppy hat, crossing her legs in her tie-dyed sundress. She nodded. “Every time. But the best blows are the ones you can avoid. Although you have to endure some, yes sir.” She smiled sweetly, and he grabbed a beer from the fridge. “It’s sort of why I’m here today, Poppa. This man I have to fight, he kinda reminds me of my father.”
“By the book prison guard, is he? Well that boy has always meant well, did the best he could after your mother…”
“No, Poppa…” she interrupted. “Not dad, I’m talking about my actual birth father.”
This gave her grandfather pause and he leaned forward rubbing his chin. “Hmmm. That fellow ran through this family like a hurricane, then blew out of town just as quick. Your mother and he weren’t together that long, praise Jerry Garcia.”
“Was he really that bad?” she asked.
“He was complicated. A stubborn man. I think your mother thought he was a free spirit, but he was more like a lost soul. Tended to drink too much, curse too much, always looking for a fight. A biker and pool hustler, suppose she liked the bad boy. He and I butted heads over your mother. And then she got pregnant, and that was that.”.
She nodded. “I'd like to explore this some more, talking about my father. I'm just trying to understand the mindset of my opponent for my match right now.”
“I imagine this fellow it rough, brutal. Don't underestimate him, Peace Lilly.”
She laughed as they continued to converse, the scene fading.
-
Echo walked along the beach, her toes in the sand.
“Butcher, you got my peaceful mind aflutter. So gruff and manly, with your bars and booze and brawling. I'm sure you never had a fight you shied away from, Daddy-O. You got this air of hard headed cool about you all the same, like a young Marlon Brando or Joe Cocker. I just got to wonder if being a rebel without a cause is worth it in the long run, maybe you could get by with a little help from your friends? If you have any, that is…some that aren't at the bottom of a bottle or some cold dock waterfront where sketchy deals are made.”
She drew doves and hearts and musical notes in the sand with a stick.
“What we got here is a recipe for disaster, like when the hippies and Hell's Angels ran afoul and tragedy struck Altamont. Gonna do everything in my power to not let history repeat, Pusher Man. I want to be on the side of a just cause and do things for the right reasons, not just blindly lashing out because you're just upholding the tough guy code. I just want to bop to the misty mountain hop, and have a celebration day of my own. Because it's all happening, and it's far out!”
She smiled at the camera and flashed a peace sign.
“Hey Rover, don’t get up on account of me.” She gave his ear a nice little scratch before going inside.
She could hear the strains of some groovy music in the background, and her grandfather sat at the piano tinkling away at it. When he heard her walk in, he turned and regarded her with a hearty smile. Long straggly grey/white hair that was slowly starting to recede perched on his head, some reading glasses, and an old Hawaiian shirt that might’ve been older than Echo adorned him.
“Hey there punkin’ pie, how’s my lil’ tumbleweed?” He got up and gave her a big hug.
“I’m good, Poppa. Have you been watching my matches?”
He chuckled and nodded. “You know that I have. Who would’ve imagined, my granddaughter throwing in with the sequined tights crew.” He mocked only in a good natured manner. Fact was, along with the rock and roll hippie culture he’d grown up with in the ‘60s and ‘70s, he also loved the old-school wrestling of his youth. “I can still remember those smoky halls up and down the California coast, watching them guys… larger than life they were. To me anyway. Does it hurt?”
She sat down and took off her floppy hat, crossing her legs in her tie-dyed sundress. She nodded. “Every time. But the best blows are the ones you can avoid. Although you have to endure some, yes sir.” She smiled sweetly, and he grabbed a beer from the fridge. “It’s sort of why I’m here today, Poppa. This man I have to fight, he kinda reminds me of my father.”
“By the book prison guard, is he? Well that boy has always meant well, did the best he could after your mother…”
“No, Poppa…” she interrupted. “Not dad, I’m talking about my actual birth father.”
This gave her grandfather pause and he leaned forward rubbing his chin. “Hmmm. That fellow ran through this family like a hurricane, then blew out of town just as quick. Your mother and he weren’t together that long, praise Jerry Garcia.”
“Was he really that bad?” she asked.
“He was complicated. A stubborn man. I think your mother thought he was a free spirit, but he was more like a lost soul. Tended to drink too much, curse too much, always looking for a fight. A biker and pool hustler, suppose she liked the bad boy. He and I butted heads over your mother. And then she got pregnant, and that was that.”.
She nodded. “I'd like to explore this some more, talking about my father. I'm just trying to understand the mindset of my opponent for my match right now.”
“I imagine this fellow it rough, brutal. Don't underestimate him, Peace Lilly.”
She laughed as they continued to converse, the scene fading.
-
Echo walked along the beach, her toes in the sand.
“Butcher, you got my peaceful mind aflutter. So gruff and manly, with your bars and booze and brawling. I'm sure you never had a fight you shied away from, Daddy-O. You got this air of hard headed cool about you all the same, like a young Marlon Brando or Joe Cocker. I just got to wonder if being a rebel without a cause is worth it in the long run, maybe you could get by with a little help from your friends? If you have any, that is…some that aren't at the bottom of a bottle or some cold dock waterfront where sketchy deals are made.”
She drew doves and hearts and musical notes in the sand with a stick.
“What we got here is a recipe for disaster, like when the hippies and Hell's Angels ran afoul and tragedy struck Altamont. Gonna do everything in my power to not let history repeat, Pusher Man. I want to be on the side of a just cause and do things for the right reasons, not just blindly lashing out because you're just upholding the tough guy code. I just want to bop to the misty mountain hop, and have a celebration day of my own. Because it's all happening, and it's far out!”
She smiled at the camera and flashed a peace sign.